


Creature of the Id

by kinky digamma (periferal)



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Incest, M/M, No Aftercare, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Magic, Sibling Incest, Smut, Unrealistic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 11:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periferal/pseuds/kinky%20digamma
Summary: ***PLEASE MIND THE TAGS, THIS IS UN-BETAED AND WEIRD AND NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT ANYTHING HEALTHY AND/OR GOOD***Being taken over by the representation of all of your unhealthy desires while your sex vampire brother is under the sway of his own baser nature can lead to upsetting alley encounters.***PLEASE MIND THE TAGS, THIS IS UN-BETAED AND WEIRD AND NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT ANYTHING HEALTHY AND/OR GOOD***





	Creature of the Id

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The unrealistic sex tag is mostly due to the fact that there's a lot of... abrupt moving from one position to another.  
> 2) Would Harry actually use the word "prick" instead of something else? No clue, I wrote this like a year and a half ago and then never really edited it.

The problem with being a literal creature of the id, I've discovered, is that there is no real way to relieve the just  _ constant _ case of blue balls.

Don't get me wrong--barring you know, weeks where he isn't up to it, because of exhaustion and all those other various things people who constantly operate bodies have to deal with--Harry jerks just as much as any dick-haver who’s into that sort of thing, but I only really get that second hand.

And furiously masturbating a psychic dick just isn't as satisfying, you know? I think there’s something a little  _ too  _ metatextual about being a pseudo-imaginary construct imagining things. 

The purpose to my existence isn't fulfilled desire---if that were the case I'd spend my every moment with my hand down my pants---which is fine, it means Harry can go about being a good person while I fantasize about cutting people open from hip to breastbone when they've wronged us, or think of all those things I could do to various sidhe (of both genders, but don't tell Harry that).

And I'm usually good with that, sulking in my mental home, being impulsive and hateful and lustful---that's what I'm built for, I enjoy it.

Thing is, I'm fine with staying subconscious only when I don't have a chance to taste control. And Harry doesn't know this yet, not really, but that cold, hard, Winter inside him? Much of it’s just me. Or him. Whatever.

All it takes is a push and bam, I'm going to take him, take his body and use it for I want. Course those kinds of pushes don't really exist, considering how irritatingly in control Harry is all the time.

Especially now, since he’s at least partially aware of the danger the Mantle represents. Except---there are some combinations of factors that would let this slip. Those have already happened before, and I was that little bit that went down screaming when he turned Maeve down, that night she died.

Say there is a vampire, one of the white court, mad with hunger because, of all things, he’s just forgotten to feed and pushed himself a little too far. This vampire is a beautiful man, dark hair, pale skin that makes you want to leave marks on it. Throw in some lust-magic, a chance encounter in a convenient dark alley and some incestuous feelings that neither sibling thinks about, but their respective entities certainly do?

What you get is one Harry Dresden forced into the role of helpless (and shamefully aroused) spectator as his far-gone body grabs his big half-brother by the shirt and slams him against the wall of the convenient alley, both men already rather hard.

Thomas’s eyes are white, and I grin as I recognize a creature similar to me, just far more powerful in its grip over its host. 

“Why, old friend, how good to see you loose,” it says, and I laugh. 

“Don’t assume you’ll necessarily enjoy this, I don't particularly care either way,” I say, reaching around with the hand that isn't holding it still against the alley wall until I can slip my fencers in through the back of its (probably very expensive) jeans, through boxers and...

“Ah, your fingers are cold!” it hisses, jerking away from me. It still isn't trying to fight me off, which is nice. 

“You’re already stretched,” I say, surprised. It shrugs, a fluid motion almost reminiscent of a sidhe. “Nice.” I press two fingers roughly into its entrance, not terribly caring if I do hurt it. Why should I, it’s not like it isn't making hitchy little moans as I find its prostate, jabbing up to make it buck its hips out.

We’re both hard enough to see through clothes, and it scrabbles for a moment to undo the front of its jeans, but I growl and its hands still. “Not yet,” I say, “I want to see if I can make you come like this.”

I can feel it already feeding on me. My prick, which was already hard to begin with because why else would I initiate this otherwise, is heavy between my legs but I ignore that for now. If I can't make him orgasm like this, I can at least make those pants damned tight and wet.

At my words it gives another breathy moan, its head falling back against the alley wall. “Alright,” it says, and it begins thrusting back against my fingers. 

I shove it roughly with the hand I'm using to hold it up, shifting so that I'm pressing against it’s neck. Harry’s hands are big, and I can already tell I'm going to leave bruises. “Stop,” I tell it, “I said _ I  _ would make you come.”

It stills, and I start slamming my fingers against where I know its prostrate is, intent less on causing pleasure and more on triggering the desired biological process pleasure is usually associated with.

It starts jerking its hips, without really thinking about it, eyes squeezed shut. 

I could continue on like this forever, really, because if I do this carefully I can milk it dry without ever really letting it orgasm, but this is boring.

Without asking it, because why would I, I pull my fingers out of its ass and, through some rough maneuvering, during which I manage to overpower and potential struggles on its part, change out positions so that it is lying entirely stretched out on the alley floor, with me straddling its hips.

“What are you doing?” it asks, and I don't answer.

Instead, I hold its chest down with my left hand and shove my right down my pants, letting out a deliberately somewhat theatrical moan as I grab my prick.

I stroke myself lazily for a moments, using my free hand to push my trousers and boxers off entirely. 

It has shut its eyes tightly, but I don't really care. I start rutting against where I can still feel its erection through its pants, intent on getting myself off.

Personally I think one of the parts of all this that upset Thomas the most is that I came all over the crotch area of his fancy jeans.

Of course, now I'm soft for a few moments but that's doesn't mean I can't again manhandle this vampire, who has gone entirely limp, really, which is quite wonderful, in my lap, letting it feel my prick near its ass as I undo the front of its jeans, finally.

It only takes a few strokes for it to get off, but its still making tiny thrusting motions with its hips, the demon very gone in feeding. The mantle has a lot of energy, a lot of energy to spare and I know that it’s likely very different than what Thomas usually feeds on.

By this time I'm hard again, so what I do is I push down the back of its trousers and pull it down hard onto my prick, get the angle wrong in the beginning so even though I just recently had my fingers in its ass, it still almost screams. It would have, too, had I not clamped my hand roughly over its mouth. 

It bites at the skin of my palm, but I don’t care--the combo of me forcing it to ride me and it feeding off me is sending all the parts of me that usually are, as I mentioned at the beginning of this little tale, dealing with a perpetual case of blue balls into that wonderful happy place called orgasm.

One fucking  _ awesome _ aspect to sidhe-enhanced stamina is apparently a really really short refractory period. 

Anyway, after two orgasms on my part and an orgasm and sort of half on its part, I was mostly sated and content to retreat back into my happy place in Harry’s head. The demon, grinning, presumably did the same. 

I got a front row seat, anyway, to darling Harry finding himself half-nude in an alley, rapidly softening prick still half shoved up his brother’s ass. 

Can you believe they went another couple rounds? It was awesome. 


End file.
